Burning (2018)Truth is individual, twisted and contorted by personal experiences. Burning (2018) is a psychological drama--and even a mystery--about a young man named Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) who has come back to live on his father's rural farm in the village of Paju. While visiting Seoul, he encounters the pretty Shin Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo). She tells him that they used to know each other as children. She flirts with him, and she has sex with him before she leaves for a journey of self-discovery in Africa, asking Jong-su to watch her cat while she's away. When she returns, it is alongside a suave and urbane man named Ben (Steven Yeun), leaving Jong-su unsure about his relationship with Hae-mi.
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Burning was directed by Lee Chang-dong (who co-wrote the screenplay) and it is adapted from a short story titled "Barn Burning" by Haruki Murakami. It is a masterpiece in how it explores human interactions and how we define "truth" from these moments. Additionally, Lee Chang-dong's direction expertly places the audience inside the mental headspace of the film's protagonist at every turn, cultivating the same emotions in us as it is with Jong-su, from lust to exasperation to fear and to anger. Ambiguity and inference are crucial motifs in Burning from start to finish. At virtually every turn, the audience should be asking themselves whether what we are told is true or not. In many ways, Burning draws inspiration from films like Last Year at Marienbad, where all that the audience has to go off of to conclude whether something is true or otherwise comes from the testimony of an unreliable narrator. The three main characters of Burning may each be motivated by divergent reasons for doing what they do, intimated in natural and convincing nuggets of exposition so deftly maneuvered into the story as to appear nigh invisible. I confess that I feel compelled to speak of the plot in only vague ways, since so much of what makes Burning enjoyable and original comes from the way it essentially seduces you into drawing conclusions, then constantly having those conclusions challenged. There are precious few movies that are successful at using visuals to supplant narration, but Burning is one of the better ones. Even before we are introduced to Hae-mi, she is presented as a sexy dancer outside of a department store, intended to draw in consumers purely because she is in a skimpy outfit, swaying her hips. This represents that Jong-su is immediately sexually attracted to Hae-mi even before any direct interaction occurs solely on the basis of having the camera linger on her and her dancing partner, long after Jong-su has left the camera's field of vision. This is meant to show that even though he isn't around her at the moment, her presence resonates in his mind. And this is just one of the first examples of this, yet far from the last.
As Burning excels at framing each scene from Jong-su's point of view, audiences should also always be calling into question their own biases with each scene. There are moments where it may be simpler to conclude that Jong-su has fallen into a kind of mystery, yet considering either Hae-mi's or Ben's perspective sheds new light. This is a difficult yet rewarding way to view the story, and again reminds me of the ambiguous "love triangle" at the center of Last Year at Marienbad. As with Sacha Pitoëff's character in that film, there is an uncomfortable quality to Ben that makes it difficult to sympathize with him. He causes Jong-su to instinctively react with quiet jealousy because he is so indifferent to his wealth and seems condescending. He drives an expensive Porsche, and speaks in a way that makes him sound like he views himself as some kind of Apollo walking on the Earth, "playing" instead of working. It would be easy for audiences who identify with Jong-su to see him as suspicious. It would also be unfair to ignore how Jong-su treats Hae-mi while he is consumed by jealousy. Jong-su seems to believe that he loves Hae-mi because they had sex; is there more to it than this? So many clues hint at the greater framework of Jong-su's life in Burning, from his violent father standing trial for a repeat assault offense...his estranged mother...mysterious and silent phone calls in the middle of the night...and just what does Jong-su actually do for a living? Why is he bringing in assorted clothes to the store Hae-mi is dancing outside of in the movie's opening scene? Does Jong-su make (admittedly accurate) comparisons between him, Hae-mi, and Ben and "The Great Gatsby" because it is an appropriate comparison, or is he doing so out of resentment to make Hae-mi feel stupider than him? Is there some strange revenge conspiracy at work (or play) against Jong-su for calling Hae-mi "ugly" as a child? Is there even a cat named "Boil"? Each detail raises only more questions, but that is the joy in peeling away every layer of Burning, eagerly awaiting what lurks beneath the surface, just as Hae-mi pantomimes with her tangerines.
Recommended for: Fans of a deliciously enigmatic and introspective psychological drama and mystery that forces its audience to constantly adapt to what is true or otherwise, framing it around the idea that it is all coming from a subjective perspective. Burning crucially makes its audience feel what Jong-su does in every scene, beautiful and ugly, and it is sure to grant audiences their own unique experience with each viewing.
As Burning excels at framing each scene from Jong-su's point of view, audiences should also always be calling into question their own biases with each scene. There are moments where it may be simpler to conclude that Jong-su has fallen into a kind of mystery, yet considering either Hae-mi's or Ben's perspective sheds new light. This is a difficult yet rewarding way to view the story, and again reminds me of the ambiguous "love triangle" at the center of Last Year at Marienbad. As with Sacha Pitoëff's character in that film, there is an uncomfortable quality to Ben that makes it difficult to sympathize with him. He causes Jong-su to instinctively react with quiet jealousy because he is so indifferent to his wealth and seems condescending. He drives an expensive Porsche, and speaks in a way that makes him sound like he views himself as some kind of Apollo walking on the Earth, "playing" instead of working. It would be easy for audiences who identify with Jong-su to see him as suspicious. It would also be unfair to ignore how Jong-su treats Hae-mi while he is consumed by jealousy. Jong-su seems to believe that he loves Hae-mi because they had sex; is there more to it than this? So many clues hint at the greater framework of Jong-su's life in Burning, from his violent father standing trial for a repeat assault offense...his estranged mother...mysterious and silent phone calls in the middle of the night...and just what does Jong-su actually do for a living? Why is he bringing in assorted clothes to the store Hae-mi is dancing outside of in the movie's opening scene? Does Jong-su make (admittedly accurate) comparisons between him, Hae-mi, and Ben and "The Great Gatsby" because it is an appropriate comparison, or is he doing so out of resentment to make Hae-mi feel stupider than him? Is there some strange revenge conspiracy at work (or play) against Jong-su for calling Hae-mi "ugly" as a child? Is there even a cat named "Boil"? Each detail raises only more questions, but that is the joy in peeling away every layer of Burning, eagerly awaiting what lurks beneath the surface, just as Hae-mi pantomimes with her tangerines.
Recommended for: Fans of a deliciously enigmatic and introspective psychological drama and mystery that forces its audience to constantly adapt to what is true or otherwise, framing it around the idea that it is all coming from a subjective perspective. Burning crucially makes its audience feel what Jong-su does in every scene, beautiful and ugly, and it is sure to grant audiences their own unique experience with each viewing.